Amanda
by thestargazerj
Summary: Nearly a decade after the Isla Nublar Incident, Dr. Grant is still trying to distance himself from InGen, Jurassic Park, and all the memories thereof.  But someone else wants those memories to replace the ones she doesn't.
1. Chapter 1

Dr. Alan Grant stood in his "office" in the trailer, trying to stuff himself into a jacket he hadn't worn for more than a decade.

Normally, if he was in his office, he'd be covered in a fine layer of Montana dust, a side effect of excavating in a dry region such as the Badlands, but he would never wear this coat if unless he'd cleaned up first. This coat represented his least favorite part of the job.

As a paleontologist, Grant's favorite activity in the world was to kneel in the dust and dig, brush, excavate the fossilized remains of the most fantastic creatures to walk the Earth. Dinosaurs were his first, and now, he realized, with a hint of remorse, his only love. Of course, there was paperwork to be done. No career anywhere goes without paperwork. But most of the time, it had included publishing papers on his finds and theories, or applying for grants to continue his excavation.

Grants hadn't been so much of a problem a decade ago, when all his work was funded rather generously be the Hammond Foundation. Then he had an additional three years of funding for that trip to Costa Rica with Hammond himself... Grant shook the thought away. In any case, that money had since run out, and he had to apply for grants again.

He hadn't published any papers recently either. Often, he compared paleontology to forensics or detective novels: one searches for clues to determine what the landscape looked like, how the animals behaved, how they died, and so forth.

However, it was also a lot like gambling: someone could have a nice winning streak, stumbling across a huge nest site, like Grant did. But eventually, that streak would come to an end.

To sum it all up, Grant and his team of grad students needed money, and had nothing to show for how they used it. Hence the jacket.

It was Grant's lucky fundraising jacket, a brown suede-like sports coat that he wore over a plaid-pattern shirt, with jeans and tennis shoes. Ellie had given it to him.

Ellie Sattler had long since moved on; "evolved," as she said. She now married a nice Ph. D-wielding doctor and lived in Berkeley with two young kids. She still lectured, but her career was now, of all things, writing books. From what Grant understood, she had made major changes in her life, but she still had the parrot, Jack. So, she husband, two kids, lectures, writing, and a parrot, all at the same time... what couldn't she do?

Grant intended to ask her.

He was dress in his fundraising jacket because he was, in fact, going out to Berkeley to raise funds at the museum. He again reminded himself that this was the worst part of the job. Everything else he could do at the camp, but now he had to go to a whole other state so that he could _keep_ the camp. At least he could stop by and say hi to Ellie.

He had a flight in five hours, but he decided to get ready early. He managed to get a few extra clothes and the few hygiene products he had at the site crammed into one bag, to dodge the extra baggage fees. He was wearing the jacket for the flight, and would head off to a hotel for the night, spend the day with Ellie, lecture at the museum that night, and head home after that was done.

It dawned on him that he had just called this place "home." Home, with the grad students, like children who would inevitably leave for college; home, with the emptiness and the sand and the wind and the bones; home, the only place he'd been for more than ten years. The only place he never wanted to leave.

He remembered the good old days, with Billy, the geeky kid who wanted a computer at every teepee, and Ellie, of course. Grant had a beard back then. Everyone hated it, and so Grant kept it around. It used to be joked that Grant spent so much time digging, more dinosaur bones ended up in his beard than in the acid baths. Grant actually liked the beard.

It was Ellie who convinced him to shave it all off. "If I'm gonna work with you," she had said, "you are going to shave that beard."

"That's your one condition?" he had asked.

"Oh, no, I'll probably have loads of requests later. But for now, yes, that is my one condition." All the kids thought it was funny. They'd been telling Grant to shave the beard for years, and the new girl thought she could do it before she even signed on?

Imagine their surprise when he actually did it.

Grant took one last look around the office, and caught his reflection on a picture frame. It was a picture of Ellie, deeply tanned, Billy, not so tanned, other strong, tanned kids, and a bearded Grant.

But in the picture was also a bearded Grant, only twelve years had gone by. This second Grant was the reflection; the stupid beard had started to grow back. When Ellie told him to lose the beard, he discovered he received more donations, simply because he was clean shaven. He rubbed his hand against his chin, realizing he would need to shave before he left for the airport.

"Oh, boy," he muttered, staring at himself.


	2. Chapter 2

"Oh, boy," she said, staring at herself.

Amanda was trying to fix her hair in the wing mirror of her Honda sedan. It San Francisco wasn't _that_ far away from Berkeley, but still far enough that she had to get ready for this night's lecture in the morning. Now she was nervous, jumpy, and second-guessing herself.

_Should I have curled my hair?_

_ Was that too much eye shadow?_

_ Was this even a good idea?_

_ Relax_, her inner calm person told her, _everything will be fine. Just act like this is a first date or something._

Amanda and her reflection locked eyes, and tried to count how many ways that was just plain wrong. Too many.

_No,_ they agreed.

Amanda was parked right in front of the Natural History museum. She had arrived ten minutes early, and called her mother to tell her she had arrived safely. Parents are always worried when their seventeen year old daughter goes on a road-trip, to Berkeley no less. What kind of trouble could she possibly get into? But Amanda had let her mother know _exactly_ why she wanted to come here, so her mother relented.

Amanda looked at her watch again. 8:42.

The lecture started at 8:30.

Amanda ran from her car to the doors, stopped midway, spun around and pointed the remote at the car, locking it. She turned back around and ran for the doors again, stopping only so she wouldn't run into them. She composed herself, just another visitor. The main hallway was almost deserted, save the guards at each exhibit entrance. She went to the one before the auditorium, and handed him the ticket she had pre-purchased.

"You know it's been going on for fifteen minutes, right?"

"Yeah..." she said sheepishly.

The guard smiled knowingly, tore off the stub, and opened the door for her.

"Stand in the back, please, unless there's an empty seat back there."

"Why shouldn't there be?" Amanda asked. "How many people would waste their nights to come to a museum lecture?"

"Let's just say," the guard said, "that most of the people in there are there for the questions."

Amanda walked through the door to see what the guard meant.

While not packed, this was surely the largest turnout for a lecture the museum had ever seen. Amanda could not see a place to sit, so she stood along the wall, near the exit.

On the stage stood the most famous paleontologist in America.

The lecture was on the importance in the study of dromaeosaurs, including and especially _Velociraptor_, and thus how donations from generous dinosaur enthusiasts such as those here tonight would further their understanding of these important creatures. Amanda listened to every word, but had the feeling that she was the only one. Everyone else in the lecture sat there, twiddling their thumbs, staring at the ceiling, or switching seats with each other.

"...and that is why we continue to need, and ask for, your support." Alan Grant said, proud of his presentation. All he could here was silence.

Slightly puzzled, Grant leaned back towards the mic. "Thank you," he said, and stood up again. One attentive person clapped their hands. The others woke up and began to clap their hands as well.

Grant gave a sidelong glance to the long table next to the podium which displayed dinosaur eggs the size of a man's fist, and a foot, complete with sickle claw held erect. All plastic, of course; Grant would never bring real fossils to a fund raiser. But he had thought these visual aides would keep his audience interested.

"Thank you very much," said the lecture host, a museum volunteer, but at least she dressed well for the night. "Can we have one more applause for doctor Alan Grant," she added, not as a request but as a command, a line she thought would be good for the occasion. "Now, does anybody have a question?"

Before she even finished, hands were thrust into the air. Grant sighed to himself. He knew this was coming.

"Alright," he said, trying to keep the agitation out of his voice, "does anybody have a question that does not relate to Jurassic Park?" Half of the hands went down. "Or the incident in San Diego-" more hands went down- "which I did not witness?" All the hands were now down.

Oh, no, wait, there was one...

Amanda felt bad for him. Only one of the four questions raised didn't relate to InGen. The other three had slipped in there using loopholes. Amanda felt disgust for those three people. Can't they leave the man alone?

Of course, she was going to ask Grant questions along those lines as well.

_Great_, she thought, _now, not only do I feel like a geek, and a nervous wreck, but a hypocrite, too!_ She pushed those thoughts aside as the audience began to mill out of the auditorium.

Grant was still on stage. This was not a book signing, or any other kind of event like that. It was a fund raiser. He saw no need to go outside, where people would cue up under the pretense of getting one of his two books signed, then ask him questions about the Park.

Then he saw the girl walk up to the stage. _Great, they're going to corner me here, too._

"Can I help you, miss?" he said, trying to be polite.

"I know this is the last thing you want to hear, Dr. Grant, but I wanted to ask you about what happened at the Park."

"You're right. That _is_ the last thing I want to hear."

"Please, I really need to know."

"Look, miss...?"

"Amanda."

"Look, Amanda," Grant said, trying to keep calm. "That happened eleven years ago. August the thirtieth, 1990."

"I know, that's my birthday."

"Besides, I signed non-disclosure agreements."

"So did my dad."

"So why don't you ask him?"

"I would, but he's dead."

Something about the way the girl said that made him wonder. He knew there was a reason she said that. And he knew he didn't want to find out.

"What's your name, again?"

"Amanda," she said. "Amanda Gennaro."


End file.
